


Godly Favors

by Battlefox, NilesDaughter



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Arcanepunk, Canon-Typical Violence, Deity Au, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Pantheon AU, Slight departure from canon, Steampunk, god AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Battlefox/pseuds/Battlefox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NilesDaughter/pseuds/NilesDaughter
Summary: Vox Machina has ascended to become a new Pantheon of Deities for Exandria. Three hundred years later, they must guide a new team of adventurers as they begin their journey, while a dark threat rises on the horizon.





	1. Beginnings

_Vox Machina._

_Adventurers. Legends._

_After the defeat of Vecna, Vox Machina found themselves revered far and wide across Exandria. Thousands travelled to meet them. Far more knew of their deeds and of their names. The more their story spread, the more they were regarded with respect, looked to for advice and assistance. The more they helped, the more reverence was poured upon them, until one day, the unexpected happened._

_It was a known fact that a mortal could become a God. This was how the Raven Queen gained her place in the Celestial Planes, and it was what Vecna sought in his reign of terror. The knowledge of how the transition was made, however, seemed to be lost to time, until Vecna began to dredge up old secrets._

_There are two elements to becoming a god. Knowledge, and Power._

_The first element, knowledge, is decidedly the more easily obtained of the two, but it is an essential element of gaining the attributes of the divine. One must be able to handle the knowing of many, many things in order to be able to be a deity. Not only this, but they must be able to utilize them in a beneficial manner._

_The second element, Power, is where Vecna nearly succeeded. Power can be obtained from many sources, but can be broken down into a simple fact: Energy cannot be created nor destroyed. It can be obtained, gathered, stored, and transferred from one creature to another, but it must come from somewhere. Vecna utilized the inherent energy stored in magical objects, breaking them down in the siphons and transferring the energy to himself. And when he died, that excess of energy was dispersed._

_Now, as was just mentioned, that energy could not just go nowhere. And while some of it was utilized in the battle with Vox Machina, much of it still remained when they landed the final blow. That energy latched on to the most powerful nearby sources- gravitating to Vox Machina like meteorites pulled into Exandria’s atmosphere from the distant skies._

_But Vox Machina were not aware._

_And Vox Machina forgot that stories, when repeated often enough, could hold the same power as any spell._

_So, slowly but surely, as word of their deeds spread, their abilities increased, their power grew, and with hardly realizing they were doing it at all, Vox Machina ascended._

_Some took the transition to Godhood better than others. With their new positions as a new pantheon of deities came more responsibility than they’d ever realized. Some of them threw themselves at their new work with excitement and vigor, while the others remained cautious, or even hid themselves away, unwilling to take on the challenges that deitiship required. The world continued to progress. New technologies were invented, roads built, and kingdoms rose and fell. And now, as a new threat reared its head, and for the first time, Vox Machina could not directly interfere. And so, it fell on a chosen few to become the voice of the Gods, and to save the world from a definite destruction._

* * *

Lizzie grimaced, running a hand through her cropped hair. _‘There’s another failed casting for the garbage.....’_  She shoved the mass of twisted ruined metal to the back of the bench, then walked over to her drafting table, seating herself heavily back on her stool. Picking up her pencil, she sighed and glanced up to the mantle, where there was an image of the god of crafting and engineering. She’d placed the small statue there so that it stood and watched over the entire shop.

"May Percival guide my stupid blueprints..." she grumbled, shaking her head, getting back to work at a new design.

Guns had started appearing in the world about three centuries ago, but they were still weak; they broke easily and tended to backfire on their users. Though quite a few people had begun to utilize muskets for their militias, the idea still had not been very well-refined. Guns were difficult to produce in bulk, and minor magic could be used to disable them anyways. Despite this, something about the machines had always intrigued Lizzie, and she'd already made one or two of her own. To be entirely honest, having the surname of ‘Gunn’ may have been a factor in this obsession. Neither of the guns she’d made, however, were at a high enough quality for her to be satisfied. They were too fragile. This new barrel should be the solution, if she could _just figure out_ how to get the casting to stop failing mid-process.

A light, rapping knock sounded from the doorway of the workshop, followed by a voice calling, "Don't you ever sleep?”

The sudden voice startled Lizzie and she jumped a bit as she glanced back at the door, finding a woman standing there with arms crossed and an amused expression peeking out from behind her long, dark hair.

"Huh? Oh, Naivara! Um... Yeah, sure. Sometimes. Did you need something? I didn’t know you were coming over."

" _Winter's Crest?_ ” Naivara reminded her, unfolding her arms and approaching Lizzie’s workbench. “We were going to go to the festival together?"

"Oh, shit, that's right." Lizzie straightened on her stool, rubbing her eyes. "I thought that wasn't until tomorro-” She stopped and grimaced, seeming to realize something. “It's tomorrow isn't it? I've been up for that long, haven't I?"

"It would seem so,” Naivara replied, simultaneously amused and exasperated. She then added, “I can come back later? Let you get a nap in first?"

"No, no, 'm fine," Lizzie stifled a yawn, gathering her blueprints away and stowing them in a leather tube before placing them in a chest and locking it. She quickly headed over to her workbench and cleaned up the remains of her casting, dumping it into a large wastebin beneath the bench. She winced slightly as she cut her hand on a stray piece of scrap metal in the bin, and stuck the cut into her mouth before offering a muffled, "'m ready to go."

Naivara gave her a pointed look. "Not before I wrap that up, you're not."

"Ish'fine." Lizzie waved her off, sucking on the cut as she put away a few other items, then headed over to Naivara’s side.

Naivara rolled her eyes. "You know, it's days like this that I sometimes wish I was a cleric of Pike. You're too accident-prone for me not to be."

"Hah," Lizzie snorted. "I'm fine. Really. Percy is just... Ignoring me tonight. Let's go."

"If you're sure..." Naivara said, but still followed Lizzie as she slipped out of the door. She moved to link her arm with her friend's and the two headed to the town center, walking along the cobblestone streets that were warmed from underground steam pipes.

Lizzie looked around the city, taking in all of the decorations that had been carefully laid around the city center, all leading towards the grandiosely decorated Sun Tree. It was beautiful here in Whitestone. She honestly loved it here... When she'd first arrived, somehow, it felt like she was coming home. She’d been worried that it would be a bit too metropolitan for her tastes, but it was surprisingly welcoming. A cozy mountain city, bustling with steam and technology from all parts of Exandria. She’d come when she’d just gotten started with engineering, and had taken an apprenticeship with one of the smaller workshops in town. She’d quickly gained a reputation of her own, and had been able to open her own shop within a few years, and she now worked comfortably on various tinkering jobs and repairs while spending her free time honing her other creations.

As she often did, Naivara made it a priority stop at the Sun Tree first, where smaller shrines to the pantheon were set up during the holidays. She released her grip on Lizzie before she approached the shrine to Vax'ildan, placing a single feather amongst the other offerings. A ghost of a smile passed over her expression as she took another moment to brush her fingertips against the wings of the small, carved idol of the god of death and the night.

Lizzie watched her before turning and approaching the shrine to Percival.  
"You've been a bit of an ass to me, but whatever," she muttered quietly, setting an item she'd made on the shrine. It was a small music box that she’d spent meticulous hours on, carving intricate designs into the woodwork, and ensuring the gears were perfectly meshed. She made sure it was situated in a location where it wouldn’t fall off the edge of the shrine, then stepped back away to allow others to approach.

Naivara approached Lizzie again. "So, food? It is about meal time, after all, and I think I saw a stall for Marquesian-spiced drinks."

"Oh, that sounds great!" Lizzie beamed. “Didn’t they have those last year?”

She nodded. “Yeah. The black tea with the cardamom and milk that we fell in love with.”

“Let’s see if they’ll sell us the tea itself, that way we can have it year-round,” Lizzie grinned in excitement, and allowed Naivara to lead the way to the stall.

For those that lived in Whitestone, the annual Winter's Crest festival was so much more than a recognition of the winter solstice. Centuries before, when the city had been held at the mercy of Briarwoods, it had changed the very nature of Whitestone. Historians and bards alike would attribute the heroics of Vox Machina to the liberation of the city and the return of the ability to celebrate Winter’s Crest. It was true that the rest of Exandria still celebrated the festival, but for Whitestone, it was also a celebration and dedication to the new pantheon.

In addition to that, the De Rolo family had made Whitestone a center of technology and trade, so the festivals were now known for markets and merchants from across Exandria. Treats, goods, and wares from all corners of the world found their way to the small mountain town during Winter’s Crest, making the city a veritable hub of trade during the winter season. Lizzie and Naivara perused all of the booths they could, looking through anything that had been added since the last season, and purchasing a few small items to take back home. Lizzie, however, began to quickly lag behind. Pulling an all-nighter had perhaps not been the wisest choice.

“You alright?” Naivara glanced at her friend, who was attempting to hide a large yawn behind her hand.

“Yeah, justmm… I think I’m gonna take a moment to rest…”

“Alright,” Naivara nodded, “Well, I’m going into the Slayer’s cake, so you could probably just wait for me on the bench out here?”

“That works,” Lizzie smiled and sunk down onto the bench. Naivara gave her a quick nod, and headed into the fragrant bakery. Almost _immediately,_ Lizzie drifted off to sleep, snoring just a bit as her head fell against her chest.

Darkness surrounded her, quiet and all-encompassing. After a few moments, the familiar sounds of tinker's tools caught her ear, drawing her forward. Though it appeared she was walking upon nothing but shadow, her footsteps echoed as if she were walking through empty stone halls. Eventually, she saw a pinprick of light through the darkness, drawing her ever closer. The light grew until she happened upon a door, heavy and wooden and carved with beautiful designs.  
  
When Lizzie opened it, she found herself in the largest workshop she had ever seen. She breathed in sharply, eyes wide as she took a step into the workshop. It was… Absolutely beautiful, in a way she could hardly describe. There were tools she could hardly fathom the purpose of, and the walls were lined with materials she could only ever dream of working with. The smell of wood, metal, and acrid glues all mingled together and she took it in greedily, feeling at home, despite having absolutely no idea where she was.

"I...um... Hello?" she finally spoke up, looking around once more. Where was she? Was she alone? No, she'd _heard_ something, tools being used…

The sounds that had first drawn her to the room stopped, and there was a shuffling noise. Around a workbench, a man came into view. He was dressed in simple leathers and a white shirt with the sleeves tucked into long workman's gloves. He had salt-and-pepper hair, though the colors were distinctly separated, with a shock of white on top and black coloring the shaved parts at the nape of his neck. A pair of gold-rimmed spectacles sat on the bridge of his nose, and his expression was slack with surprise.

"Who the fuck-- where am I?" Lizzie tensed immediately, her hand moving to rest on the grip of her gun, ready to fire if necessary. She stared at the man, unsure. He looked... Oddly familiar, but she could not figure out how. “How did I get here? Is this a dream?"

"All very good questions," he mused, crossing his arms over his chest, studying her. "And I’m not entirely sure... This has not happened in quite some time..."

Lizzie straightened, her expression a bit indignant, as well as a touch confused. "This is a dream, isn't it? An attractive man in a fantastic workshop... I am _definitely_ dreaming."

"In a way," he conceded with a nod. "It's Elizabeth, right?"

Lizzie tensed, now eyeing the man with some suspicion. "...Er, actually I prefer Lizzie... And do I get to know who you are?”

He chuckled a bit and only offered her a smirk, gesturing to their surroundings. "Any guesses? It should be fairly obvious."

"I....hmm...." She paused, looking around again, then back to him. She seemed confused for a moment, then suddenly her eyes widened and she quickly looked back to the workshop, then back to him once more.

"P-Percival?!" she finally managed to sputter in shock.

"The one and only," he replied, chuckling a little before he gestured to the room around him and added, “Welcome to my workshop.”


	2. Guidance

"Percival? _The_ Percival?!" Lizzie could not process this. How was she here?! With a deity?! Not just any deity, either, but the one she’d devoted so much of her time and attention to! Oh, she was so definitely not worthy to be standing here right now...

"I love the music box,” Percival commented, seeming to ignore her distress as he casually leaned back against a workbench. He lifted the box in question from his pocket and ran his fingers gently along the edge. She’d spent hours crafting vinework with ebony and mother of pearl, and he carefully felt each carved leaf she’d inlaid. His expression turned a touch wistful and he admitted, “It reminds me of some of my smaller projects..."

Then he frowned once more and looked to her again. "Though this still does not explain why you are here. It is not usual for mortals to wander into these realms of their own accord."

Lizzie's heart pounded in her chest. "I... Er... I'm glad you like the box. I swear, I'm not here intentionally." She couldn’t keep herself from glancing over the workshop again, a bit envious. A workshop of a _god_... Ohhhhh, what she wouldn't give to be able to just spend an hour playing around with just a corner of the place…

"Have you figured out the answer to your problem yet?"

“My… problem?”

She looked back to him. Her brain had pretty much ceased normal function at this point. Eventually she figured out what he was asking, though, and managed to reply, "Oh, ahhh… I know I need a new mold medium… er, since the current one can’t get hot enough to handle the steel... But I can’t figure out what to use instead."

He nodded quietly as she explained her dilemma and when she finished, he held up a finger before heading back in the direction that he had entered from. After a few moments, he returned with a sheet of parchment, folding it into a small square, before offering it to her. "Perhaps these notes will help. I would allow you time to test it now, but I suspect you won't be able to stay in this realm very long."

Lizzie took the paper, fumbling it momentarily. "Th-thank you!" she breathed, unsure of what level of formality to exhibit. He was a deity, and she was very much… well… but at the same time, he certainly wasn’t acting in the way she'd expect a deity to act. In the books, deities were described as being cryptic and distant in their communications with their followers. This… this was almost human.

“I understand that this… is a very atypical situation,” Percy added, almost as if he knew the direction her thoughts had taken. “Even for me, this is… different. But…” He grimaced, looking almost as if he were unsure of what to say.

“Is… is it very different? Being… being a deity?” she asked tentatively.

He let out a dry laugh. “Ah, it’s--Vox Machina and I ascended into our godhood. In comparison to that life… It is simultaneously the same and yet unlike anything that could be experienced in a mortal lifetime.”

Ah, now _there_ was the cryptic sort of speaking that she’d been expecting.

“In any case, I believe it is time for you to leave.” Percy looked faintly amused, again like he’d heard the words in her mind. “Do be cautious with my creations, won’t you…? Even after all this time… It still wounds me when I consider the harm they’ve caused. These improvements--keep them to yourself. I think I’ve already done enough damage for one lifetime.”

Lizzie watched him, trying to read him. There was a sorrow behind his blue eyes. More than she had initially seen. But quickly he seemed to realize that she’d noticed and he turned away, returning to one of the workbenches to resume tinkering on a project. Lizzie took that as the signal that it was time for her to leave. Slowly, she made her way back over to the door of the shop.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he added, calling her attention back to him. “I would like you to go Vasselheim as soon as you are able.”

“Vasselheim?” She looked back to him, expecting to meet his gaze, but he was still focused on whatever project he had in his hands.

“Yes. I’m not giving you this information for nothing.”

And then his gaze did meet hers once more and she felt startled by the intensity of it. His eyes seemed to bore into her. She felt terribly exposed and suddenly much more aware that she was _definitely_ in the presence of a deity.

He watched her for just a moment before asserting, “I have work for you to do.”

***

“Lizzie! Lizzie, wake up!” Naivara’s voice seemed an octave higher than usual, laced with panic.

"Mmmfffjgkldjswha?!" Lizzie started awake, sitting up and looking incredibly startled. "Ah!!"

Now that she had returned to consciousness, her friend’s expression shifted from worry to irritation as she solidly whacked Lizzie’s upper arm. “Gods, don’t scare me like that! You jerk!”

"I--Ow!!" Lizzie winced. "How long was I out?!"

“Almost an hour,” she admitted with a sigh. “You weren’t responsive at _all_. I carried you back to my place, but I almost went to fetch a cleric. I thought something was seriously wrong.” She huffed and leaned back, finally giving her some space. After a few moments of silence, she added, “I told you that you could’ve taken a nap before you went to the festival. That’s what you get for staying up all night…”

"An entire hour..." Lizzie said, letting out a deep sigh. An hour of the perfect dream… “Sorry. I really didn’t mean to worry you…”

Naivara waved a dismissive hand. “It’s alright… It’s just that you normally would’ve lashed out at me the second I touched you, so I was afraid it was something worse than exhaustion.”

“I’m sorry,” Lizzie repeated. “I probably should head back home…”

“Not just probably,” Naivara replied firmly. “I won’t accept any other course of action. If you were exhausted enough that you didn’t wake up while being carried here, you’re too tired to go to the rest of the festival.”

“Oh, you don’t feel up to carrying me the entire time?” Lizzie gave her a smirk, and then laughed when Naivara rolled her eyes and gave her a shove. “Alright, alright, I’m going.”

She got up and gathered her things together before heading out the door.

The sleep, though brief, had cleared her mind somewhat. She wasn’t in any danger of collapsing on the way back, at least. Her smile softened as she took the opportunity to look at the softly falling snow around her. While it was not even evening yet, it was already rather dark in the city. A thick cloud cover had rolled in overhead and was starting to slowly dust the city with glimmering flakes. Though the storm was just starting, Lizzie could tell they were in for a blizzard that evening. The wind tore at the hems of her clothing and stole all the heat from her nose. Though the festival was still in full force, many were returning to their homes to pile on thick fur jackets and stuff them with hot water bottles to help them last through the night. Lizzie reached the threshold of her workshop just as the flakes started to pile onto eachother and not just melt into the paving stones of the street.

Locking the door behind her, she moved quietly through her own workbenches, unable to keep herself from being reminded of the workshop in her dream. All the smells, the feel of everything, it had just been so _real_.

Was there any chance at all… that maybe it could have been real? Stranger things had happened in Whitestone before, and she could remember every detail with such clarity that it was hard to brush off as a figment of her imagination. Plus, she had seen materials she’d never even considered to be such, smelled things she didn’t recognize--wasn’t one of the main tenets of dreaming that everything in the dream was something she would have experienced before?

Then, suddenly, she felt her heart jump in her chest. _The paper…!_ She looked at her hands before starting to pat down her pockets. Incredibly, she felt her fingers brush against paper inside one of them. She could not help but freeze for a moment, eyes widening in disbelief. Then, slowly, she pulled the folded piece of parchment from her pocket. On the outside, her name was written in a curling script that was very much not her own.

Immediately, she spun on her heel to run back to Naivara. _She HAD spoken to Percival! And she needed to go to Vasselheim!_

***

As evening fully settled over Whitestone, the snowstorm really began to pick up, the sky darkening further to an ominous gray as the snowflakes became larger, quickly covering every surface imaginable. But as they had for many years, and certainly would for many more to come, the steam pipes running beneath the city ensured that the streets never froze over. Despite the additional warmth, however, many of Whitestone’s residents were more than content to remain indoors, crowding around their fireplaces.

Naivara herself sat huddled in an armchair, buried under a pile of blankets and warm furs, sitting as close to the fire as she could be without any of the embers flying onto her. While she loved living in the northernmost parts of Tal’Dorei, she was _not_ built for the cold--unlike Lizzie, who almost always sprang to life at even the slightest hint of snowfall. No, Naivara preferred Marquet, with its dry heat during the day and its pleasantly chilly nights. Though as her thoughts drifted back to the rolling Marquesian deserts, she was reminded of the last time she had visited that far-off country.

A part of her was admittedly shaken up about what had transpired. Naivara still had nightmares about that particular day. Nightmares where she would awake clawing at arrows that were not there, gasping for breath as if her lungs could never fill with enough oxygen.

Despite the hardships of that day, however, it still held a very tender memory for her, one with dark wings and feeling the safest she had ever felt in her entire life. She smiled softly as she recalled that moment, one hand absently reaching up to one of the raven feathers she kept in her dark hair, running her fingers along the soft edge.

Suddenly, there came a rhythmic tapping on the window, drawing her back to the present. Though reluctant to leave her cocoon of warmth, she had a feeling she knew exactly what to expect waiting for her at the windowsill. After all, normal visitors would just come to the front door. Still, she let out a heavy sigh as she disentangled herself from her blankets and padded across the room, drawing open the curtain.

Sure enough, a large raven, nearly white with the amount of snow caked onto its feathers, sat at the window. It tilted its head, looking at her for a few moments, before rapping on the glass once more with its beak.

Naivara’s heart swelled at the sight of the bird and she quickly unlocked and opened the window. She shivered as a gust of cold wind entered alongside the creature, and she just as quickly closed the window as the raven flew inside to perch on the back of her armchair. Without warning, it started to shake--rather violently--sending water droplets and clumps of snow all over the sitting room. She laughed a bit and slowly approached the bird, offering her forearm as a new perch.

“Come on, little one. Let’s go get you dried off,” she said in a gentle voice.

With a small squawk, the raven flew from the armchair to her arm, flapping its wings a few times as it settled. Naivara smiled a little and carried the bird to the bedroom. Once there, she set the raven down on her tiny writing desk before promptly enveloping it in a bath towel, being mindful not to rub too hard as she slowly dried the creature off. The bird cooperated for a few moments, but eventually the attention seemed to be too much for it, and it suddenly began to flap its wings, squawking loudly.

Naivara quickly stepped back, letting the towel fall to the ground in the process, murmuring an apology. The bird squawked at her again, then flew over her head to settle on the top of her armoire. After shifting back and forth, looking as if it were trying to get comfortable, it lifted a wing and began to preen. This action also revealed that there was a rolled bit of parchment tied to the bird’s leg.

Naivara tilted her head a bit in curiosity. At present, the raven was just out of her reach. She started to drag her desk chair over to the armoire to get a closer look, though she froze when the bird stopped preening long enough to fix her with a beady stare.

“Easy...” Naivara murmured in an attempt to placate the bird, and ever so carefully began to reach for its leg. “I just want to take a quick look at that paper...”

Unfortunately for her, the tiny movement seemed to be just enough to startle it. With a loud “ _SKRAWW!”_ it beat its wings and flew over her, soaring out the open door and into the hallway.

“Shoot.” She clambered back down from the chair and turned to give chase, grateful that she at least lived in a small, single-story home. She tracked the bird down in her kitchen, where it sat on the countertop, helping itself to some dried cranberries she’d left out on the counter.

Naivara let out something that was both a laugh and a sigh, and she moved slowly as she tried to approach the raven once more. It glanced over at her and then began to hop along the length of the countertop. It cawed plaintively at her, almost seeming to be _playing_ with her. Once she was just barely out of reach, the raven screeched right into her face; she yelped a little in response, reflexively throwing her hands up to protect her face. The raven let out a series of cawing noises, almost as if it were laughing, before it flew up and over her head, heading back in the direction of her bedroom.

Naivara let out a huff, now beginning to grow a little bit irritated, and reached up to untie one of the many silver beads in her hair. Hoping that it would be a satisfying enough bribe, she also returned to her bedroom, where she found the raven now perched on one of the headboard of her bed. She eyed the raven for a few moments before she slowly held out her hand--and the bead--in offering.

"Maybe we can trade?" she asked slowly.

The raven tilted its head, almost seeming to study her for a moment, before it cawed and flew from the headboard to her shoulder, snatching the bead in its beak along the way. Once the bird settled, it held out its leg willingly. Sighing softly, Naivara reached up to take the rolled parchment. She untied the twine holding it closed and unrolled the message, finding a few short lines written in sharp, jagged-looking letters:

Naivara let out a soft gasp and turned quickly to look at the raven. But as she watched, it disappeared--not taking flight, but rather melting into the shadows as its comforting weight lifted from her shoulder.

"Vax'ildan..." she breathed, unable to tear her gaze away from the spot that the raven--her patron--had previously occupied.

A frenzied series of knocks startled her back to reality. Frowning in confusion, she went to answer the door, where she found an out-of-breath Lizzie on her doorstep.

“You won’t… _believe…_ oh, fucking hells, I am out of shape…” She groaned and leaned against the doorway for a moment.

Naivara straightened a little, her shock about Vax’ildan being _in her house_ dissipating long enough for worry to set in. “Did… did something happen? Are you okay? Did you _run_ here?”

“I ran the entire fucking way so please…” she groaned, wiping her brow. “Fucking _hells_ , Vari, you will NOT believe what happened to me…”

“How about you come in?” she offered with a slight smirk. “That way we’re not just chilling on the front porch like a couple of weirdos. Besides, it’s freezing out.”

“It’s not tha’ cold,” Lizzie mumbled, wiping her nose a bit as she headed past Naivara. She went straight to the kitchen and sank into one of the chairs at the table with a groan. “Fuck--ing. Hells.”

Naivara rolled her eyes a little, but she was used to Lizzie’s tendency towards melodrama. Without another word, she bustled around the small space to brew some tea for the both of them. “So, the last time I heard you cursing the hells this much, you nearly blew up your workshop. What happened now?”

Lizzie snorted softly, “Ah, I’d say this is likely the _one_ thing that could possibly surpass any of my accidents. Or the results thereof.”

Naivara hummed once, a rather noncommittal sound, almost as if she doubted anything could truly top her friend’s track record of accidents.

“I,” Lizzie gave a pause for dramatic effect, then continued, “met a _god._ ”

As Lizzie watched, she saw Naivara become absolutely still, her hand frozen on the faucet of the sink, where she had been about to fill the tea kettle.

Lizzie continued, a bit slower and more serious now. “I’m serious, I… well, I thought it was a dream or I would have mentioned it earlier,” Lizzie sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I was in Percival’s workshop, and.. He was _there_ , Vari! I met him. I… he told me to go to Vasselheim. I thought it was a dream, but then he gave me a paper, and..”

She tugged the note in question out of her pocket once more. “It’s _real_. This isn’t my handwriting, this is… he really… Vari, I need to go to Vasselheim!”

Naivara was quiet for a long time, long enough that Lizzie feared her friend would think she was crazy, or start accusing her of blasphemy. Eventually, Naivara sighed and turned away from the sink, facing Lizzie with an unreadable expression and crossed arms.

“Are you sure?” she asked, far more serious than even Lizzie had anticipated.

Lizzie paused, suddenly worried about the way her friend was acting. “Y-yeah. I mean… if you want to look at the note, you can, but… It doesn’t get much clearer than physical evidence.”

She held out a hand. “May I?”

Lizzie very gently handed over the letter. “Please, um.. Be careful with it. I’d like to preserve it if possible. And, er… it’s less a note and more… technical advice? It’s a long story.”

Naivara nodded, seeming preoccupied as she unfolded the parchment. She read over it quickly and then handed the note back. “This… happened this morning, I assume? When you were unconscious?”

“Yeah, it did.” Lizzie nodded quickly. “It really felt different from a dream, to be entirely honest. It was more like I was _there_ . It was _fantastic._ He has things in his workshop--I mean, just the smell alone was amazing, and Percival himself--that was something all in it’s own. He’s so _tall,_ and he has white hair on top and dark on the sides and these big spectacles and--”

“And he wants you to go Vasselheim?” Naivara interrupted.

“...Yeah?” she said tentatively. “Why?”

Without saying anything, Naivara left the kitchen. After a few moments, she returned and sat beside Lizzie at the dining table, placing a piece of rolled parchment between them. “I received a similar summons.”

Lizzie’s breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened as she took the smaller slip of parchment. “This… this is from Vax’ildan, isn’t it?”

Naivara nodded, an odd sort of smile on her face. “You just missed him. He stole my cranberries.”

Lizzie blinked, “He… What?”

She laughed a bit. “I mean… I’m sure you’ve noticed that since I started serving the Raven Queen and Vax’ildan, I kind of attract ravens, right? Well, I had another one visit me right before you arrived. Except this one was Vax’ildan himself. He brought me that note.”

"So, _two_ gods. Two gods in one evening, and they both want us in Vasselheim.” Lizzie was starting to look a little antsy. “I'll have to close my shop, pack everything--oh, _fuck_ you Percival, I was going to have lunch with that hot guy from the steamworks tomorrow--how much are portal fees again?"

Naivara snorted at the mention of the date and then grimaced in response to her question. "They’re pretty expensive. Probably even more so if Vasselheim is the destination. After all, they’re _still_ snippity about the arcane arts..."

“Ugh, of course it is," Lizzie grumbled to the ceiling, shaking her head. "Alright, alright. Well, if we have not one--but _two_ gods telling us to go, we should probably head out as soon as possible."

"Yeah," Naivara murmured, frowning. "I… have a bad feeling about this, though..."

Lizzie shrugged.

"What's the worst that could happen? We have the _gods_ on our side."


End file.
